


Well met

by SrebrnaFH



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Multi, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), it seemed like a good idea at the time, random plot bunny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 23:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrebrnaFH/pseuds/SrebrnaFH
Summary: People going to the same wedding meet at the airport... crossing over between very different universes.Because after the Snap TSA became even crazier about security.Of course, timelines mean nothing in the X-men reality ;)





	Well met

**Author's Note:**

> This was just based on a little plot bunny that showed up yesterday. Basically:  
> \- after the Decimation/Return the TSA and other services will become much more paranoid  
> \- Vision will get restored  
> \- MCU and X-Men realities will finally mesh, making Magneto Wanda’s biological father (as per some of the comics canon)  
> \- Wanda and Vision will want to get married in Paris (because why not!)  
> \- …and X-Men I’m picking from my own slight AU, “Regaining Herself” (because it’s my plot bunny), but I think it will make sense without reading that one, too.

If there was one specific group she wished had been eliminated during the Decimation never to come back, it were the TSA agents. Unfortunately, since the Return and all the various changes in the structure of society that it had caused, the government had became more paranoid than ever before, and thus, the evolution of the rule of TSA over a common passenger had reached hitherto-unseen levels.

Some people could not travel by air anymore. Some could not enter certain classes of flights. There were stories of flight attendants being sent back home because the TSA did not approve of them entering the “secure area”.

As a pilot, she hated being the passenger, and adding to it the level of stress inherent in any transoceanic flight only resulted in heightened blood pressure all around.

And the TSA agent looked at her in contempt, nearly threw the documents back at her and said simply:

“No can do. The chair stays.”

She felt a pulse of rage and smothered it quickly.

“We have paid for a ticket to bring it on board. We have all documents filled in. We even have technical specification of the battery here, to ensure nothing will happen during the flight. What else are we supposed to do in order to get past this gate?”

She kept her voice in check, but the man smirked at her in an ugly fashion.

“You can lose the cripple and come in yourself,” he said with a leer. “But he is not coming in. The weirdo either,” he nodded towards Henry, who was hovering behind her. “I don’t know why they still sell tickets to people like them. You, pretty thing, you can definitely come through.”

“You sick…” she inhaled, but her husband’s grasp on her wrist stopped her.

“Let’s go home,” he said with calm that was not in any way reflected in his fluttering pulse or narrowed eyes. “Come on, love. We’ll find another way.”

“No,” she crouched in front of the all-plastic wheelchair, leaning on his knees. “This is Wanda’s wedding. It is important to Wanda. If it’s important to Wanda, it’s important to Erik. And if it’s important to Erik…”

“It’s important to us, yes,” he leaned closer and kissed her softly. “But we can’t do this here. We have to pick our fights, leannan. Now, come, let’s go back and pick our luggage…”

“But, Charles,” she groaned. “It’s Friday. We are supposed to be in Paris  _tomorrow_ , which is much earlier than our actual tomorrow, and if we aren’t, Erik is going to go to pieces, right at his daughter’s wedding…!”

“Sh, sh,” he carded his fingers through her hair. “Come, mo bhean ghràidh, let’s think logically.”

“One more word out of you and we’re calling in police,” the security guard looked like someone who took an university major in looming threateningly and managed to graduate with honours. “Terrorists and freaks!”

“Excuse me?” she turned up to look at the man, but at that moment someone interrupted the discussion with a swift interjection of “What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?”

She froze.

The woman standing vis-a-vis the guards was an example of such a careless elegance that it made normal women bite into their knuckles out of jealousy and was probably a delight of any designer. She was also one of the most powerful women in the country, if not the world, and quite obviously  _not_  a customer one expected to see on an airport.

And yet, here she was, looking at their small, desperate motley crew with interest.

“We find ourselves unable to board the plane to Paris,” her husband explained, still slowly rubbing her neck. “We wanted to go to our friend’s daughter’s wedding, but it seems people like me are not welcome on board.”

The woman gave the TSA agent a long, hard look.

“And, if I heard it correctly, he had propositioned your wife and denigrated your friend just because of his looks, which seems to be on par with his skills in anything at all.”

“You little…!”

“I wouldn’t do this,” a gentle giant of a man stepped closer. “Mrs Potts has more lawyers than you have ever seen in one place and you really don’t want to get on their bad side.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Charles sighed and blinked, slowly.

The guard frowned, looked at all of them, mumbled something about queers and weirdos and stalked away, while her husband curled down in his chair, panting with exertion.

“Charles? Charles, look at me,” she cupped his face in both her hands and focused on the image of a wall all around him. Slowly, slowly adding brick by brick, she pressed that picture towards him. And with every brick he relaxed gradually, until his forehead touched hers.

“Tha gaol agam ort,” he whispered tiredly, voice barely there with exhaustion.

“I love you too,” she traced a mark of tears on his cheek. “Why did you do this? You know it hurts more every time.”

“He was considering calling reinforcements,” he breathed. “And he was actually thinking about both you and Mrs Potts being taken to a holding cell somewhere in this building. Clothing optional.”

“What?”

A lanky, long-limbed young man joined Mrs Potts, carrying a girl, maybe six, maybe seven years old.

“Charles? What are you…?”

“Earth mightiest superheroes,” her husband said enigmatically and raised his head to look at the newcomer.

“How do you…”

“I will explain, but maybe we should get away from here?” Charles leaned back in his chair, face finally relaxed and calm. “Come, leannan. We will need to get our cases back from the dropoff and this will require all your diplomatic skills. I’m too worn out to help now.”

“Ah!” Pepper Potts patted the shoulder of the big man. “Happy, would you help them, please? Before their luggage gets loaded?”

She surrendered the baggage stubs willingly and watched in awe as ‘Happy’ convinced the airline employee to return the luggage and carted it back towards them.

“Mommy, what happened? Why are we stopping?” the kid was hugging her caretaker with a constrictor hold, but the young man seemed to be ignoring the discomfort.

“Because I’ve heard a set of familiar names,” Mrs Potts replied easily. “I think - but this is just a wild guess - that we are in fact heading towards the same event.”

“What? How?” she frowned at the other woman.

“If we take a bride named Wanda and add to it her very anxious and quite a loner of a father, named Erik, and a wedding in Paris…” Pepper trailed off suggestively. “You see where I’m going with that.”

“Just to check,” she raised her hand. “Wanda, as in, long red hair, and I mean  _red_ , not auburn, not reddish-blonde, just  _red_. Penchant for long, flowy red clothing.”

“Can shoot sparks from her fingers,” the kid provided, to the obvious discomfort of her elders.

“Morgan!”

“Well, I don’t think there are many Wandas in Paris that would fit  _all_ of these points,” she quickly finished. “Especially the sparks part. Nice to meet you,” she reached out to the CEO of Stark Industries. “Moira Xavier-Lehnsherr.”

The powerful woman clasped her hand.

“Oh, so you are Erik’s…” she glanced at Charles.

“Spouses,” he finished for her. Because yes, they might not have been the direct victims of the Decimation, but they were very much making use of the change in marriage laws the Return had produced. Eagerly. “Charles Xavier-Lehnsherr. And this is Hank McCoy, our friend.”

“Ah. I see. Very well then. Pepper Potts-Stark, but that much you know, I suppose. Peter Parker, my…” she smirked at the youngster. “Whatever it is that he is. Mostly pain in the…”

“Aunt Pepper!”

“My daughter, Morgan, and there, carting your cases, is Happy. Who, as you can see, is a man to call on if you need someone persuaded to be reasonable.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as Happy pushed the cart towards them with Hank’s help.

“What now?” she was feeling the oncoming migraine. “We need to find a car and get back home and let Erik know…”

“Moira…”

“What!?” she took a shaky breath. “We can’t be there for Erik, I really wanted to see Wanda get married, I have half of Rika’s clothes in my bag and I’m really, really not up to all this right  _now_ …!”

“Well, we could take you with us,” Pepper Potts sounded terribly matter-of-fact for someone who had just offered them a trip over the Atlantic Ocean. “Because we are flying our own plane and we  _are_ rather definitely going to the same wedding…” she trailed off, blinking, head cocked to the side. “Ah. Professor Xavier, of the Xavier Institute? And you are… oh, you are Moira MacTaggert…” she turned, her lips pulled in a smile. “Oh, my. You  _have_  to come with us! I mean, I really  _must_  see their faces when you show up!”

“W-what?”

Pepper linked her arm with hers and pulled them all towards the exit, more like a force of nature than just the owner of the biggest designer tech manufacturer in the world. Or maybe these days it was one and the same.

“Wanda’s wedding will be attended by  _many_  different people,” she explained. “Not sure if you have ever heard of SHIELD, Mrs Xavier-Lehnsherr, but there are people in CIA who remember your name - well, your old name - quite clearly,” she smiled that wide, pearly-toothed smile. “I really need to take a photo of director Fury when he sees you!”


End file.
